


Coming Home

by savagealias



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savagealias/pseuds/savagealias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The short Locker Room scene we saw in the trailer, but from Sherlock's perspective.  Special thanks to my awesome beta, Marilyn whom I love and adore!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Teeny tiny one-shot I wrote after seeing the Season 3 trailer. I've read a few fanfics based on the locker room scene, but they were all based from Molly's perspective. Just thought it would be interesting to see it from Sherlock's.

Sherlock was back.

He had finally taken down the Moriarty’s network and was able to return to his old life.  He could tell Mrs Hudson, Lestrade… and John.  It took him a long time to admit to himself that he missed them.  He never did sentiment, but if he were to take a lesson out of any of this would be that he was human. 

He was not the man he once was – devoid of feeling and sentiment.  If he were completely honest with himself, he knew that he was in love with Molly.  He was petrified to see John and was eternally grateful to Lestrade.  Mrs Hudson was like a mother to him, so he knew that when he revealed himself to her, she would be angry at first, but would welcome him back with open arms.  He missed everyone terribly – including his brother (even though he would _never_ admit that to Mycroft’s face.) 

But there was one that he missed most.  He was itching to see his petite pathologist.  She had, reluctantly at first, and then all at once seeped under Sherlock’s skin.  Thoughts of her kept Sherlock sane on those cold lonely nights.  Her smell.  Her smile.  Her laugh.  Her voice.  He missed her more than anything in the world.  So, after donning his trademark Belstaff and new blue scarf that he had picked up from Mycroft’s care, he made the trip over to St Barts.

He had kept in contact with Molly throughout his three year absence.  She was valuable to his success in bringing down the network.  He would send her samples and she would send him the results through Mycroft’s men, as well as updates on John.  He sometimes would surprise Molly by coming to her for medical help.  He would only stay for a night or two, and then he would be off again without even so much as a goodbye or a thank you.  But over time, he came to realise that what Molly was doing for him was beyond what was asked of her, so he would send her flowers if he was not able to verbally tell her how thankful he was for her services and friendship. 

He knew that Molly was coming to the end of her shift, so instead of announcing himself to her in the morgue, he would do it in the privacy of the locker room.  He checked to see if the room was empty, which thankfully it was.  So, Sherlock waited in the corner for Molly to arrive.

Five minutes later saw Dr. Hooper walk through the door.  She looked exhausted.  Her face was downcast and her shoulders slumped.  Sherlock deduced that she had done a lot of paperwork during her shift due to the muscles in her right hand cramping.  She walked over to her locker and opened the door.  She hadn't noticed that he was in the room.  As quietly as he could, he walked over to the door to lock it, ensuring that they would not be disturbed.  He then walked back over to stand behind her.  Not too close, but close enough so that his reflection would show in the full length mirror that hung on her locker door.

At first, Molly didn't notice the figure in the mirror that was not her own.  Her head was bowed, focusing on undoing the buttons on her lab coat.  Sherlock wondered if he should announce himself in some way, but instead found he was quite content with staring at her, admiring her.

Finally, Molly looked up.  Her eyes went wide.  Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream, but none came.  She quickly turned around and faced him.  She looked at his face wide-eyed, then looked him up and down, taking in the fact that he was wearing his beloved Belstaff.  He looked like his old self, except that age and stress had wearied him.

Slowly, Molly dropped her hand and found her voice.

“You’re… you’re back?”

“Yes.”

A small smile crept up onto Molly’s face.  Then, a thought struck her.

“Does John know?”

“No.  Not as yet.”

“Are you going to let him know?”

“Yes.  I plan on letting him know tonight.  I understand he has a girlfriend that he intends to propose to over dinner?”

“Yes.  He’s happy.  She’s made him happy.”

Sherlock nodded. 

Not once during this little exchange did their gaze drop from one another.  A silence fell on them both again.  Both were content for a moment to revel in the fact that the other was standing in front of them.

Molly lunged towards Sherlock, arms outstretched, and wrapped them around his neck.  Sherlock wrapped his arms around her small frame, letting out a sigh.  Oh how he had missed her. 

Molly hung on for dear life.  Sherlock knew it was because she thought he would disappear if she didn’t, but he wasn't going anywhere.  He closed his eyes and took in Molly’s scent-- antiseptic with a hint of lavender and jasmine.  Oh how he missed that smell.  It was distinctly Molly.  He lifted his head slightly and gave Molly a small chaste kiss just under her ear.  Molly turned her head to face Sherlock with tears glistening in her eyes.  He could see the myriad of emotions that swept across her face.  Sherlock lifted one hand cup Molly’s cheek.  Her eyes closed at the touch, with the tears that were threatening to fall cascading down her face freely.  Sherlock wiped them away with his thumb while he whispered “I’m here.”

Molly let out a small sigh of relief.  She opened her eyes again with fresh tears and a smile on her face.  Sherlock’s heart swelled and before he knew what he was doing, his lips crashed onto hers, sealing themselves to her mouth.

Molly responded without thought.  They poured all of their feelings and emotions into this one kiss;  all of the despair,  the hurt,  the waiting.  It all culminated into this one moment.  Sherlock’s hands cradled the back of Molly’s head with one hand whilst pulling her ever closer with the other.  Molly’s hands were in Sherlock’s luscious curls, tugging and pulling which drew low groans from Sherlock’s throat.

Eventually they had to part, so they rested their foreheads against each other.  Their breaths were ragged and tears shining brightly in both of their eyes with broad smiles plastered on their faces.

“You’re home.”  Molly breathed.

“I’m home.”  Sherlock sighed.

Sherlock and Molly left St Barts and hailed a cab to Molly’s apartment.  They both knew that they needed to talk, but both were quite content to leave it be until later.  For now, they both just wanted to revel in the fact that they were in each other’s arms.  Sherlock knew that he still had to sort things out with John and the others, but for now, lying in Molly’s bed, holding her sleeping form tight against him, he finally felt like he was home.


End file.
